


Good Omens Drabbles

by purrplekat1989



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Sleepy Boys, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Touch-Starved, Wing Grooming, dressing up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 06:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19997110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purrplekat1989/pseuds/purrplekat1989
Summary: Drabbles related to good omens. A bunch of unrelated one shots.Will update the tags as things become relevant. Please forgive any errors i write these on my phone and they are unbeta'd lol.





	1. Pinned

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: One day, when Aziraphale has left the shop, Crowley gets his tail pinned underneath a toppled bookcase. He turns into his human form, but it's just as excruciating. When Aziraphale comes back, he finds Crowley in hysterical tears and immediately goes about healing him.

Aziraphale could sense something was "out of whack" long before it registered in the forefront of his mind. He found himself being drawn back to the shop, a near literal cloud forming around it as he pushed the door open. This was pain. "Crowley?" He followed the feeling into the back, finding the demon sitting on the kitchen floor, leaning against a cabinet and biting his palm hard enough to draw blood. "Crowley what on earth!?"

Demons are not set up to heal themselves. The fact that Crowley was able to heal anything was purely a product of his imagination. Aziraphale gently extracted Crowley's palm from his mouth, taking his face in his hands and wiping away the errant tears. "Tell me what hurts dear. We can fix it."

Crowley responded with a nonverbal feeling of pain before shifting into his snake form. Well... A smaller, more easy to handle version. The injury standing out as starkly damaged scales.

Aziraphale made a sound of sympathy, willing the damage away. Injury knitting itself back to wholeness. The demon gave a soft hiss and headbutted Aziraphale's chin, curling around his shoulders in an expression of gratitude.


	2. Twisted feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wing grooming

"Aziraphale. For hea- sat- ugh. Your wings are a bloody disaster." Yes vanity is a sin. Crowley was intimately aquatinted with this particular one. The only reason Aziraphale was even bothering to mess with his wings at all was because a few feathers had gotten twisted and were causing him pain.

"On hush, Crowley." The angel muttered. A bit more tartly than he'd intended, followed by a sigh. He looked at his demon with a pitiful help me expression on his face.

Crowley sighed. "If you want me to fix it for you, Angel you really should just ask."


	3. Preen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More grooming fic

Sometimes Crowley fidgets. OK he fidgets a lot. Not in the same way Aziraphale does when he's happy. This is more of a restless, can't focus... Fidget. It manifested as pacing, as talking with his hands. Big emotive gestures. As grooming his wings.

As grooming Aziraphale.

Though neither of them knew it would become one of his tics until the angel was wandering around the flat above his bookshop one evening after close. He'd allowed his wings to manifest; and Crowley, while rather inebriated, focused on them with white hot intensity.

And then he pounced. One knee resting on the angel's spine. Aziraphale, to his credit, did not let out the extremely undignified squawk of surprise he wanted to. Instead he started wiggling. "Crowley what on earth?"

Crowley didn't answer, fingers running through the soft feathers as he worked, hyperfocused on MUST PREEN.


	4. This is Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dressing up is fun.

Crowley LOVES any excuse to be the center of attention. He spends several days going back and forth indecisively. The devil, or Freddie Mercury? Much to Aziraphale's annoyance and repeated shoos when Crowley tries to get him to play along. secretly amused by the demon's pouting

"It's a party, Angel. We're going. And we're going to get very drunk. I made Anathema promise to get those little cake pop things you like." And with that bribe the argument was settled.

But oh letting Crowley convince him to let the demon dress him was another ordeal entirely.


	5. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is super tired and needs a nap but doesnt want to take one so his angel makes him.

"Crowley." yellow eyes blinked slowly in response to the exasperated tone from the angel. "Are you listening to me?" he already knew the answer from the fact that he'd had to repeat himself three times already.

"M'listenin'... you were talking about... your books?" it was a safe -but completely wrong- guess. In reality nothing Aziraphale was saying was sticking. The demon was bone tired. Averting the notpocalypse had taken a lot out of him. But every time he closed his eyes all he could see was sweeping pillars of hellfire.

_ "Shut your stupid mouth and die already." _

Aziraphale snapped his fingers in front of Crowley's face. "Earth to Crowley. Where has your mind gone dear boy?" he could feel the exhaustion rolling from his friend. "Alright this is quite enough." he stood, giving the startled demon a pull to get him to his feet before actually picking him up fully. One arm around his back and the other sweeping his knees out from under him even as the serpent protested.

The bed in the loft above the bookshop was large and cozy. Though Aziraphale rarely slept, it did make for a nice place to curl up and read. Or nest as was sometimes required as well. He deposited the demon on the edge so he could pull back the duvet. "Take your shoes off my dear. And don't argue with me. You can do this the easy way or i can put you to sleep. But you're going to rest one way or another."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved this drabble from it's own into the collection because it made nor sense that way.


	6. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll take Crowley is touch starved for 500.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to starbit for the beta.

* * *

It started out as a little bit of an itch. Something that Crowley was used to in the back of his mind, and was ignored for the most part. Not a literal itch per se, but an awareness that something is not complete. He had not had time to dwell on it, not with the impending apocalypse and all. But he was acutely aware of it whenever his fingers would brush against Aziraphale's as they lingered in the back of the bookshop, passing a bottle of wine between the two of them. That niggling itch that was always there.

There is actually a lot of touch in Hell. Just not the kind anyone really wants. There's the expected flagellation that comes from a bad quarterly, but really it's the more subtle things. A brush of the shoulder followed by a shove. Scratches from claws. A slap to the back of the head. It was all very blasé really, once you got used to it.

It really was exhausting and left him with that quiet need in the back of his head. Touch me, don't touch me, touch me? Just a little? He just wanted something gentle for once in his blasted existence.

His eyes settled on the angel as he puttered around the bookshop. The end of the world really hadn't changed either of them all that much. Just given them the freedom to... to what? He wasn't sure where that train of thought had been going even before it derailed itself. Best not to dwell on it. 

Except he knew he would. He looked down at his hands, palms up, the feeling of Adam's small hand in his own was *still there*. The phantom sensation was still there in the back of his mind despite that it had been nearly a week. Not for the first time, he scrubbed his palm against his jeans, no use wanting things he couldn't have.

He nearly didn't notice when the angel -his angel- kneeled on the floor in front of him. Probably wouldn't have in all truthfulness had the blond not placed himself exactly in Crowley's line of sight. Hands coming to rest on thin knees. "What has you so lost in thought, dearest?"

Golden eyes focused on Aziraphale's hands more than his words. "S'nothing, Angel..." He mumbled, looking away. The ghost of a pained whine catching in his throat before it could fully form. 

Aziraphale moved then, perching daintily on the edge of the sofa next to him. Taking one hand in his own, he silently rubbed the pads of his thumbs along the pulse in Crowley's wrist. Silently moving his fingers in small circles until he felt the tension beginning to ease. First one arm from wrist to elbow, then the other. Neither of them spoke. Crowley had told him at one point what it was like in hell. 

Golden eyes slid closed finally, melting into the touches. Soothing circles up until the angel's thumbs brushed where his sleeves had bunched up. A nudge against his knee had him opening his eyes once more. 

"You know, my dear boy..." It was accompanied by a gentle brush of his thumb across the demon's cheek. "You only ever need to ask."


	7. Flashbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post: https://sweathands.tumblr.com/post/188263766807/i-dont-know-why-this-image-popped-in-my-head-can

Sometimes Crowley would disappear. That’s what he called it anyway. A psychologist might say he was having flashbacks. Whatever it was he hated it. There was never any warning about what might set it off either. It could be a smell, or a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, anything really.

Whatever you called it, it would send the demon into shivering, eyes unfocused, dazed, often unresponsive for minutes at a time. Longer if Aziraphale wasn’t there to ground him back into reality.

“Shh… Sh… You’re safe. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you anymore. Listen to my voice, come back to me, dearest.” The words never mattered. Aziraphale could have just as easily been reading from an encyclopedia. It was the tone that mattered. Calm and even.

The tone one might take with a spooked horse. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles across his cheeks until he came back to reality.

“Aziraphale?”

“I’m here dear boy. I’m here.”


	8. Flustered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn't accept affection well.

Crowley still had issues with accepting affection.

He had zero issues with doling it out really. He pretended he did, but it was all just a show to keep up appearances. Couldn't have anyone thinking he was  _ soft _ after all. Especially not when it came to angels. Well... Angel. He couldn't give less of a flying fuck about what the rest of the flying fucks thought.

Aziraphale on the other hand... his opinion was the only one that mattered. Even if he currently was doing everything in his power to make Crowley turn into a ridiculous blushing mess.

_ “ _ ... sweet and kind and...”

_ “ _ Aaaangellll stoooppp!” he whined, burying his face in his hands and folding over to hide. He could feel his ears burning, face hot and flustered. But Aziraphale didn't let up on his barrage of sweet nothings.

"Don't hide from me, dearest." He chided, tugging lightly at the demon's shoulders in an attempt to extricate him from his knees. 

Crowley allowed himself to be pulled upright, only to immediately smush his face into Aziraphale's lapel instead with a contented hiss. The angel's fingers working soothing circles into his scalp with an amused hum of his own.

Aziraphale smiled, pressing a light kiss to Crowley's temple, manhandling him so he was comfortably curled in the Angel's lap. The fingers on one hand continued to gently card through the soft auburn curls at the base of his neck. The other making its way sneakily beneath the dark fabric at the edge of the demon’s shirt, pushing it up to reveal the smooth planes of his abdomen, eliciting a small self-conscious squeak. “Zira!”

“Yes dearest?” he said, not even attempting to sound innocent in his intentions. Just giving Crowley a little mischievous grin and continuing the motions of his fingers. 

Crowley huffed a soft laugh. “You’re incorrigible, Angel.” he said, though his tone carried no sting behind it as he leaned in to capture the blond’s lips in a soft kiss. Aziraphale gave another happy humming sound, returning the kiss, nudging at Crowley’s shirt again until the offending garment was pulled off and discarded on the floor.


End file.
